


you're killing me on the moon

by insxne



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Bipolar Disorder, Boys In Love, Depression, Evil Alexander Pierce, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Kissing, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Not a Happy Story, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Smoking, Smut, also Bucky gives Steve a weird nickname, shitty parenting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-07-27 13:50:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16220387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insxne/pseuds/insxne
Summary: He was wearing a black leather jacket, and, ignoring Steve’s stares, he took a packet of cigarettes out of his jacket and a white lighter. He opened the packet with careful and long fingers, took a cigarette and stuck it between his lips. Then, he finally turned towards Steve.« Can you light my cigarette ? » « He asked, handing him his lighter.Steve doesn't have any friends. So, when a boy named James with a bandaged hand and the most beautiful eyes he's ever seen sits next to him, something shifts.





	1. moonbeam

_sorry forsmelling like  
_ _cigarette smoke and staring  
_ _at you all the time and    
_ _laughing too loud and  
_ _having a shaky voice when  
_ _you tell me beautiful words  
_ _that weren’t made  
_ _for people like me_

 

 

* * *

 

THE PARK WAS DESERT THAT EVENING, which was a little uncommon, since it was the middle of June and normally, there would be kids running everywhere and parents sitting on the benches. But it was also Monday, so it wasn’t that surprising. And, why was Steve even complaining about in the first place ? He came here to be alone, after all.

He sat on one of the two swings, letting it oscillate a little, his feet brushing against the ground. It was almost summer, so it was warm outside ; Steve liked going out when it was like this, he liked the feeling of the cool air on his face and his skin. He looked up : the sky had taken beautiful colors, shades of gold, orange, pink, as if it was just a canvas where someone had thrown paint at it randomly. Or maybe was it the dying sun disappearing at the end of the horizon, only to reappear every morning when night left room to day, like the phoenix’s reborn from his ashes.

Yeah, Steve was a bit of a poet sometimes.

He closed his eyes, letting his mind wander off to the peaceful part of him and the sounds all around him overwhelm him : the music of the city and car honks far away, the one, neared, of the brush of the wind on the leaves.

All that peace faded away when he heard the clatter of chains next to him, and the sound of someone sitting on the other swing. He cracked his eyes open, turning curiously towards the person responsible for troubling his moment. He found himself facing a boy, the same age as him, maybe, and probably the most handsome he’d ever seen. He had dark hair falling with some sort ofcasual elegance in front of his eyes, and if it was any other person Steve would have mocked the all « bad boy » attitude he seemed to carry with him, but it was like he _was_ the bad boy attitude.

He was wearing a black leather jacket, and, ignoring Steve’s stares (something told Steve he was obviously used to it), he took a packet of cigarettes out of his jacket and a white lighter. He opened the packet with careful and long fingers, took a cigarette and stuck it between his lips. Then, he finally turned towards Steve.

« Can you light my cigarette ? » « He asked, handing him his lighter.

Steve found himself unable to answer, as if his voice had died inside of his throat, so he nodded and took the lighter from the boy’s hand, trying to ignore the warm tingle when their fingers brushed lightly against each other. The boy leaned towards him,and Steve rolled the scroll wheel until a small, trembling flame appeared. He approached it to the cigarette the boy still had stuck in his mouth, and lit it. The boy drew back and let out a puff of smoke in the air. Steve fought against the desire to take a picture, because, really, it was so beautiful he wanted to keep this moment forever.

He was also a bit sappy and romantic, yeah, but what kind of poet would he be if he weren’t ?

« So is it some kind of flirt technique or do you just not know how to light a cigarette ? » Steve asked with a chuckle. The boy turned to look at him, cocking an eyebrow and taking a drag of his cigarette. Then, without saying a word, he raised his right hand, and, thing that Steve had not noticed, it was wrapped in tight white bandages, from his wrist to each of his fingers.

Steve felt his own face suddenly warming up. God, could he be even more ridiculous ? He was such a moron.

« I - », he started to say, mortified. He didn’t really know what he was planning on to say, probably apologize and then hope the ground will open to swallow him, but the boy laughed. It wasn’t a cruel or mocking laugh, or any of those things, as Steve was expecting.

« Don’t worry », the guy said, smiling. « I imagine loads of guys and girls must try to get you in their bed. »

Steve frowned at that. « Hum, not loads of, no. » He felt strangely happy that the boy imagined that people flirted with him.

« I’m James », the boy said. « I would gladly squeeze your hand, but I’m afraid it’s gonna be a bit difficult. » He added, showing his injured hand and the other holding the cigarette.

Steve smiled back at him. « I’m Steve. »

James took another drag of his cigarette, inhaling smoke in the air, and Steve realized the sun had long vanished at the horizon, and the sky had now taken darker colors, like blue and purple. « Anyway, what happened to your hand ? » He asked, and instantly regretted it when he saw the smile on James' face disappear, and his face suddenly going somber.

« Fell in the stairs » James simply answered, but Steve highly doubted falling in the stairs was such a bad memory that it could make a person looking that… Sad. But he didn’t know him, he wasn’t his friend, so it surely wasn’t his place to insist.

« That’s the first time I see you here » Steve decided to say, changing the subject.

James' shoulders seemed to relax, and he got less rigid. Steve took it as a good sign. « Yeah. My parents don’t… Like this neighborhood. They think it’s crowded by drugs dealers and murderers, or something like that. » He muttered.

Steve chuckled. « Well, I live here, and I promise you I’m not a drug dealer if you ever want me to meet your parents. »

James laughed at that. « Don’t worry, I know that. You didn’t even ask me a cigarette. And, no offense, but you don’t look like a drug dealer at all. »

« Yeah, I let you have that. » Steve replied.

James looked down at himself, with his leather jacket and his cigarette. « I guess you’re right. » He said, shrugging. « It’s part of my appeal. »

Steve cannot disagree with that.

« So you live there ? » James then asked him. Steve frowned.

« Well, not in the park, no. », and the other started laughing. He had a strange and warm laugh, that looked oddly like a bark (even if Steve would never say that to James. He had already embarrassed himself once in front of him, he wasn’t counting on doing it twice.) « I live two streets from here, so it kinda became my way out. »

James raised an eyebrow, looking curious. « Your way out of what ? »

Steve thought a few seconds about it. What was he really trying to escape ? It was a little of everything, he supposed. And himself.

Yes, mostly himself. But he wasn’t going to tell James that, he’d just met him.

« My parents. » He finally answered. « They keep thinking I need to be coddled. It’s kinda upsetting. »

They kept silent for a moment, but Steve is sure he heard James mutter under his breath « lucky you ».

Steve didn't know what to say, but something told him that the all dark bad boy attitude maybe wasn't just an act. James' mix of blue and grey eyes bore a strange mix of emotions that made Steve uncomfortable. Maybe because what he was seeing wasn't unfamiliar.

But before he could say a word about it, a phone started to ring, breaking the silence between them. James took it out from his pocket, looking at the screen, its light pale on his face. He touched a button and brought the phone close to his ear.

"Hey, Sam", he let out. It had gone dark, so Steve couldn't quite decipher with James' expression if he was happy that Sam was calling him or not. Steve pretended to take interest in the swing he was on and slowly started to balance forward and backward, the chains wincing softly under his moves, but didn't stop listening. He knew that eavesdrop someone's conversation wasn't right, but he couldn't help it. He felt the need to... know everything about this guy. Not in a creepy way, or invasive, he just wanted to get to know him.

And he wanted James to get to know him in return.

"Yeah, I'm okay..." James was saying. "No, I don't know. I don't know." He repeated, now sounding annoyed. "No, I'm not home. In a park. No, they don't know. Look, could you please stop being such a buzz killer ? Where did you sense of thrill go away ?" There was a moment of silence ; Steve could hear Sam talk, but not distinct what he was saying. Then, James let out a long sigh. "Look, I'm fine. I don't want you to come, no, listen to me. Don't come here, my parents would literally kill you, and me." He rubbed his eyes with his fingers, and even without seeing him well, Steve saw how tired his face looked. "I didn't mean it like that."

There's a long silence. Steve doesn't even hear James' voice through the phone. For a moment, it's like time stopped, as if it was holding its breath, see what was going to happen, who was going to talk first, what words would be exchanged.

Steve felt like an intruder. He wanted to get out of here, but his feet were like glued to the ground, and he couldn't find the strength to get up and leave. So he just waited, for something to happen, for someone to speak.

"I'm sorry" James finally said, sounding defeated. "I'm going to be fine, okay ?"

What was going on ? Why did it appear as if James was going to die, or to get seriously hurt ? Steve looked at his bandaged hand, and he remembered James' dark expression when he had asked him about it. Steve wasn't an idiot, he knew that James had lied.

"I promise, it's going to be fine, pal." James added, his voice fading in the end of his sentence. Again, Steve would have liked to be able to go, but he couldn’t, and he felt the desire to reach and comfort the boy next to him. "I promise."

There was another silence, and then Sam answered something and James let out a little wet laugh. "Yeah, tell her I said hi. And I want to be the god father of your future child, I'm warning you." Steve stared at him. James' dark features had let place to a fond, affectionate smile. "Yeah, see you around." And he hung up. Steve immediately turned his head towards his shoes, pretending that he didn't listen to the all conversation.

« Sam is my best friend" James told him, startling him. Steve didn't expect him to tell him. "Well, he's more like a brother, I can say. He's a little like... your parents, for example. Overprotective."

Steve nodded, without saying a word. James brought the cigarette back to his lips and took another drag, throwing his head back to exhale all the smoke from his lungs. The stars were shining above their heads, and Steve thought about this, and how poetic it was. Two boys with secrets, strangers to each other, sitting in two swings under the stars and the smoke of a cigarette.

Yeah, definitely poetic.

"I'd like to have someone like that." Steve finally managed to say, his voice a bit strangled. "I'm not... very good with people." Not that I have a choice.

In the darkness, Steve felt James turn towards him. "You're doing pretty well right now."

"Well, then you must be a real weirdo, because it's rare I fit with people." Steve answered, and James barked out a laugh. Steve found himself smiling at it : he had a communicative laugh.

"If you tell all the people who like you they're weirdo then it's normal they make you think you don't fit." James said with a wide grin.

"Yeah, well, shut up." Steve replied, blushing. He was glad it was dark, otherwise James would have seen it.

"That's repartee you've got there, mate." James mocked. Steve rolled his eyes, and watched him take a last drag of his cigarette before throwing it on the ground and crushing it under his shoe. Then, he stretched a little on the swing, before getting up. Steve frowned, his heart beating faster against his chest. He didn't want James to leave yet.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Moonbeam." James said, smiling at him.

Steve arched an eyebrows, surprised. "Moonbeam ?" He repeated, not understanding.

James pointed at the dark sky above them. "You look pretty under moonlight." He explained, as if it was totally normal, as if Steve's heart wasn't on the verge of the explosion at his words. "Makes you shine. I guess Moonbeam's your name now."

"That means I'll have to find you a nickname too." Steve said. He didn't like the moon, but he liked the fact that James was giving him a nickname. And also that he found him pretty.

James' smile grew larger. "Good luck then." And he started to walk away. Steve found the urge to hold him back, at least just for a moment.

"Wait !" He exclaimed, standing up, and was surprised for saying it aloud. James stopped and turned back to look at him. Again, Steve was stroke by his beauty. "Will you be here tomorrow ?" He then asked, out of his breath, though he hadn't done anything.

James sent him a mysterious smile. "I guess you'll have to find out." He answered, and then disappeared in the darkness.

Steve stayed a long time standing alone in front if the swing, the moon for only light, the scent of cigarette lingering in the air. He brought a hand to his face and found that he was smiling.

 

 

Steve slowly opened the door, careful not to make any sounds. He was coming home, too late, and his parents wouldn't be happy about it if they found out.

He stepped inside of the house, closing the door behind him, heart racing inside of his chest. He then turned, walking in the hallway, and started his way in the corridor. The light of the kitchen was on. Steve stopped dead on his tracks, feeling his legs starting to shake under his weight. Maybe his parents just forgot to switch it off.

But when he passed in front if it, his mother was sitting at the table, looking tired and holding a mug in her hands. Her eyes seemed to be lost in the contemplation of the wall in front of her, but her head snapped up when she caught Steve' moves.

He met her eyes, and they stared at each other for a while. Then, she frowned. "What is that smell ?" She said, and before Steve could even answer, she added. "You smell like cigarettes."

Steve shook his head. "I'm not smoking, mum."

She watched him carefully, as if she was searching in his face any trace of lie. "Where were you ?" She finally asked in a low, calm voice. Steve didn't know if it was a good or a bad sign.

"I lost track of time, I'm sorry." He answered, his fingers playing anxiously with the hem of his shirt.

"You were supposed to be home two hours ago." She said.

"Mum, it's only ten p.m. All teenagers of my age party until two in the morning." He replied bitterly. All the magic of his meeting with James had now completely vanished.

"You're not like most teenagers", she answered him, and it made Steve' hands curl into fists, and his nails dig in the skin of his palms.

"Thanks for reminding me how much a freak I am." He let out sarcastically between his clenched teeth. His mother's face fell, a hurt expression painted on her features.

"You're not a freak." She muttered in a horrified voice, her eyes widening.

"But you're making me one." He snapped, and she flinched at his words. He took an immense satisfaction in the painful expression of her face, even if he knew he was being unfair and mean, but he didn't have time to be soft. He was exhausted of holding back all the vile and dark thoughts wandering in his mind.

His parents were far from being bad ones, but Steve was beyond tired of not being able to do what he wanted, to go to parties, get drunk and have friends who he'd do funny things with. His meeting with James was by far the best thing that had happened to him in years. So he wasn't going to wait until he turned eighteen to do what he wanted.

"We-we, we only want what's best for you, Steve." His mother pleaded with tears shining in her eyes. Steve' chest tightened painfully, but he didn't feel the desire to be gentle tonight.

"Then you're doing it wrong." He bit back. "You're the reason I don't have friends, you're the reason I can't get out of bed some days."

He saw tears rolling down her cheeks, and he turned away, leaving the room. He was almost to his own bedroom when he heard her sobs, and froze, hand on the handle. He considered going back to her and apologize for his harsh words, but nothing would ever change if he did. He needed her to understand, to see the truth, even if it was ugly. He wanted her to understand that her acts were not protecting him, but making him feel worse.

He came into his room, closed the door behind him, and slopped down onto his bed. The curtains of his his window were open, leaving the moonlight into the room. Steve thought about the nickname James had given him, and he thought about the way he held his cigarette and the way his black hair fell in front of his eyes.

He got up and closed the curtains, leaving the room into darkness. He sighed, changed into more comfortable clothes, before slipping under he sheets. He laid on his back, staring at the ceiling above his head, ceiling he couldn't even see anyway. He listened, but the house had gone silent. His mother must have gone to bed now.

He thought back about what had happened, and came to one conclusion : from now, he was going to live his life the way he wanted to. If he wanted to come back home at three a.m. instead of eight p.m., then so be it. His parents could piss off.

"I guess you'll have to find out", James had said, and hell, Steve did want to. The boy could be his escape, and Steve hoped he could be his too.


	2. sneaky freak & sappy punk rock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> « Oh, yeah, let’s lock up the freak when we don’t know what to do with him », he mocked, heart aching, letting out a ugly, horrible and twisted laugh that didn’t sound like him at all. « Let him rot in his room, that’s the only thing he’s good at anyway, right ? »

_Some things, once you've loved them, become yours forever._  
_And if you try to let them go..._  
_They only circle back and return to you._  
_They become part of who you are,  
_ _or they destroy you._

__

 

 

* * *

 

STEVE ALWAYS WAS A PATIENT PERSON. It was rare that he got frustrated ; he always managed to remain calm when he was waiting for something or someone.

Or maybe was he because the waiting was never worth it.

First,he woke up early. If his body wasn’t stupid, he would have slept until midday and then the waiting wouldn’t have been so long.

But his body was stupid and that’s why he woke up at eight a.m. He tried to go back to sleep, but he could close his eyes and toss in the bed all he wanted,he was still awake in the end.

He stayed laying under the covers until his whole body began aching and it became impossible to lie there another seconde. He sighed and got up, stretching a little to wave off the uncomfortable numbness in his members, and looked out the window. The sky was a little less clear than he was the day before, the sun hiding behind some huge white clouds, or maybe was it just his impression ; but his chest and his stomach were filled with excitation, his heart beating faster than usual, making him a bit dizzy.

Inside of the house, he could hear the sounds of plates being moved and a coffee maker making coffee, sign that his parents were awake.

Steve didn’t feel like joining them ; his mother would be here with teary eyes, and his father knew probably about their fight by now and will be waiting for him to show, surely to give him a lecture, and Steve didn’t want to face his mother’s sad face or to be scowled at. Today wasn’t about his problems with his parents, but about meetings in a park, smoke of cigarette in the night and words exchanged under the stars.

He glanced at his desk, where were spread several notebooks, pens, crumpled pieces of paper and some books. And, placed in evidence, a little orange bottle of pills.

He looked at them, standing still, before taking a step forward and reach at it. The bottle was cold in his hands. He opened it and let two pills fall on his palm. White, sad, ugly pills.

He didn’t like taking them. No, in fact, he hated taking them. He hated how numb they made him feel, he hated how much they made it hard to see the colors sometimes. He hated how the world would appear unfocused and unclear and dizzy ; he hated this feeling, this _tentation_ to just… Swallow them all.

More than anything, he hated the fact that he had to take them. But, in spite of that, he took them. Every single day, without forgetting. And everyday it felt as if he didn’t feel anything, as if he wasn’t human.

But today, he wanted to feel. He wanted to feel the colors of the sky as the sun disappeared in the horizon, he wanted to see the green of the trees in the park, the black of James' hair and the mysterious grey of his eyes.

So he put back the pills in the bottle, closed it and placed it on the desk, hidden behind some book, where he couldn’t see them. He didn’t want to look at them.

And, he wasn’t going to die just because one day he decided not to take them, right ?

He tried to distract himself from thinking about seeing James, but it was impossible, and the waiting seemed longer and longer at each minute. He played some dumb games on his phone (on any other day he wouldn’t call them dumb), watched two episodes of some TV serie that he usually loved but now couldn’t help but find boring and that he was unable to focus on. He opened a book but after re-reading for the fifth time without remembering or even understanding a word it said, he finally gave in.

And what if James didn’t show up ? After all, he had never promised that he would.

He couldn’t start thinking like that, otherwise he’d just end up doing nothing and stay in his room, and that wasn’t what he wanted. He was trying to be a normal teenager, to have fun like everyone, he had to stop thinking about what could happen. He had to live the moment, and stop worrying about everything. He had decided to not take his pills today, he wasn’t going to back away now.

So he just settled down and waited. He waited, and waited, and waited, and, honestly, boredom really was the most awful thing in the world. Really, smashing his head against his wall was a much better option than this.

And, finally, the needles on his watch indicated it was six p.m. He got up, changed into a pair of light blue skin, a white long-sleeved tee shirt and some shoes, checked his hair and his appearance during a minute in the mirror, regretting he didn’t have some magic make-up to hide the ugly scars on his face, but James had already seen them anyway. He hadn’t even asked about them, which was at the same time surprising and refreshing. It also made Steve feel a little bad, because he hated when people asked about his scars and yet he had asked James about his hand, a topic that was obviously a sore spot.

But, in his defense, he didn’t know it was, right ?

Once ready, he slipped his phone into his back pocket and left his room for the first time in the day.

He walked silently in the corridor, passing the kitchen quickly. He got to the hallway, and reached out to open the door, slightly relieved that he hadn’t have to face his parents.

« Where are you going ? » Someone asked, startling him. He turned back, discoveringhis father on the entrance of the living-room, who was staring at him with a severe look.

Steve’s throat ran immediately dry. « To take a walk. » He croaked out, hating the way his voice trembled and sounded.

« You went home two hours late yesterday. » His father said as if he hadn’t heard him (or maybe he just didn’t care). « And you showed disrespect to your mother, don’t expect it to be without consequences. »

« I didn’t show her any disrespect ! » Steve protested. « I told her the truth ! Don’t I have the right to do that ? »

He saw his father’s jaw clench in anger.

« Go back to your room. Now. You’re grounded. » He answered.

Anger started to boil in Steve’s veins, like poison running down his blood, burning his chest. 

« Oh, yeah, let’s lock up the freak when we don’t know what to do with him », he mocked, heart aching, letting out a ugly, horrible and twisted laugh that didn’t sound like him at all. « Let him rot in his room, that’s the only thing he’s good at anyway, right ? »

He stomped past his father, frustration and fury threatening to explode inside of him. He wanted to fly at his father, to claw at him, to tear him apart, to make him feel just a tiny part of all his resentment and the pain he felt.

But he didn’t.

« You didn’t seem to have a problem with that all day ! » His father yelled at him.

Steve slammed the door of his room so hard the walls shook. He stormed inside of the room, pacing, pulling at his own hair, his hands shaking uncontrollably, itching to throw, to break something.

He kicked the leg of his desk hard, ignoring the pain exploding in his foot and the books that had fallen on the ground.

He wasn’t used to feel emotions so vividly ; his medicaments always fogged everything. He was so angry he wanted to cry to let it out, but his eyes were dry. He sat on the mattress, digging his nails in his palms, his breath coming out ragged. He tried to calm down, inhaling deeply, but his heart was beating so madly against his ribcage it hurt. God, he was _so_ angry. Against his mother, his father, against himself. Why couldn’t he do what he wanted ? He didn’t even ask for something incredible. He just wanted to be like everyone else, to have fun, to have a real life.

He wasn’t even going to see James. He had suffered an awful waiting for nothing. He didn’t even care about the waiting, he was just so pissed that he wasn’t going to see him. He could imagine James in the park, alone, at night, waiting for him to show, which he wouldn’t, and then getting up and never going back. His heart ached at the simple thought, and he buried his head in his hands, breathing sharply.

He had to think. _Think_. He would not let his parents dictate his life once again. He looked up, staring at the wall in front of him. Then, he stood up and walked towards his window, opened it and leaned above the edge. His room was just two meters away from the ground ; it wasn’t dangerous to jump. He just had to wait for his parents to go to bed (he wasn’t going to risk them checking him while he was out and realized he had snuck out) and then he could just go out by the window and join James in the park.

Yeah, that was a plan.

 

 

He waited during two hours for his parents to finally go to bed. His mother poked her head in the room and he pretended to be asleep. He didn’t want to talk to her anyway.

He let thirty minutes pass, in case of, before slipping out of his bed, walking silently to his window. He opened it slowly, grimacing when it creaked, and then he climbed over the edge. He looked down at the ground, two meters from him, inhaled deeply and jumped.

His feet hit the ground strongly, sharp pain shooting his ankles and up his legs. He winces, stumbling and falling on his knees. 

He stood still for a moment, listening, but his parents seemed to be still asleep. He sighed, but the relief of still not being caught didn’t ease the lump in his throat. He looked up at his window, wondering how on earth he was going to go back to his room. He seduced that he’d thought about it later, and took his phone of his pocket, checking the time. Ten past ten. He hoped James was still in the park. 

He ran from his house as if his life was on the line, and by the time he got to the park, he was completely out of breath. He put a hand on a tree next to him to steady himself, and bent over, panting, trying to regain his breath ; he could hear his heartbeat racing against his ears, and his lungs were burning. 

Once he managed to finally control his breath again, he stood up and walked towards the swings.

At his great relief, James was already and still here, sitting on the same swing as the day before. He was also wearing similar clothes : Black torn jeans, combat boots and the same leather jacket. His dark hair were falling on his face, and, under the pale light of the moon above their head, it looked like they were shining.

James looked up at him, grey eyes meeting his. Then, his lips curled into a grin. « Look who finally decided to show up.” He let out with a curious spark wandering behind his prunelles. Steve sat besides him, feeling a bit guilty. 

“Sorry” he apologised, sincere. “My dad didn’t want me to go out, so I had to sneak out by the window.”

James must have found it amusing, because he started to laugh. « Look at you, Moonbeam the rebel, defying parental authority. Kinda hot, to be honest. » 

Steve felt his cheeks warming, meaning that  he was probably (surely) blushing. He cleared his throat, a little embarrassed, hoping that it was too dark for James to see. « Well, not really for me. I let you have the rebel side along with the drug dealer appeal. » Steve finally replied.

James' grin widened, baring his teeth. “Alright, then. If you let me have those, what do you have left ?” He asked, but Steve understood the meaning hidden behind those words : who are you ?

The question left Steve without a word, and out of his breath. There, under the moon and James' grey eyes, he felt strangely vulnerable, as if suddenly he was an open book ; which was silly, because, well, people are so much more complex than any books that could have ever been written. 

« I’m a loner, I guess. » he answered quietly, his voice shaky and weak. « I’m one of those boring people that simply... exist. The ones who nobody remarks, the ones who belong to other people’s background. » 

James watched him intently, his face absolutely unreadable ; but Steve couldn’t turn away, couldn’t help but be drawn by him, couldn’t tear his eyes off him. He noticed the long curb of his dark eyelashes, a little scar just above his left eyebrow, the haughty beauty of his features. 

Then, James frowned, and the charm was broken. Steve blinked, pulled out of his transe. 

« I think you’re wrong. » James said as quietly as Steve, except he was talking carefully, as if he was choosing his words. « I don’t think you’re a boring person at all. I think... » He paused for a short moment, looking like he was in deep thought. « I think you’re a very interesting person, but you’re just shy and afraid to be on the front of the scene. So you hide and try to go unseen, so much that you convince yourself that you’re not special. » Steve looked at him, eyes widening, drinking every one of his words. James stared back at him. « Am I right ? »

Something inside of Steve’s chest snapped, and he turned away, uncomfortable, fingers playing with the hem of his tee shirt. « I - » he tried to say, but his voice trailed off, staying stuck at the back of his throat. He inhaled sharply. His lungs were burning, but it had nothing to do with him running earlier. « Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t like being called special. Makes me feel like... like I’m a freak, you know ? Like I’m crazy. »

He turned back towards James, who was watching him seriously. There was a moment of silence, where Steve started to freak out, thinking he had just messed everything up, into James spoke again : 

« Personally, crazy people are the best. I mean, it’s not a bad thing. My best friend Sam is totally mad in the head, but he’s the reason I can get out of my bed in the morning. »

Steve felt himself frown at that, and he thought that he had misheard it. The reason I can get out of my bed in the morning ? « What do you mean ? » he asked, feeling guilty for showing his curiosity. Steve didn’t like when people asked him questions like that and yet e was doing the exact same think. He doubted that James liked it. 

« Nothing. » James replied, a little too quickly. « I just mean... you’re not boring. You’re a lot more interesting than others, and I really like talking to you. »

Steve looked at him, and smiled. « That was actually sweet. » 

« Yeah, well, shut up. » James said, but he was smiling too. « I’m not sweet, I’m punk rock. » 

Steve couldn’t help but laugh at that. « Keep telling you that. » 

James tried to punch him in the arm, but their swings were too far from each other, and it only made Steve laugh harder. 

« Stop laughing, you git. » James said, and then he put his hand in the pocket of his jeans, before taking a packet of cigarette and a lighter out of it. He picked a cigarette, placed the packet back into his jeans and reached the lighter to Steve. « Here, light my cigarette. » he said, before sticking it between his teeth and leaning so Steve could light it. It felt oddly... domestic. Normal. As if it wasn’t just the second time that he was lighting James' cigarette. 

James leaned back, exhaling smoke in the air, head thrown back, and once again, Steve was overwhelm by how beautiful he was. To the point that he was staring to think that it wasn’t a very healthy attitude. But again, there wasn’t very anything healthy in the situation : he had just snuck out of his house, hadn’t taken his pills, and James was smoking cigarettes. 

His fingers were itching to just... touch him, to brush his skin against his neck.

« Anyway » he said, trying to distract himself from the sight of James smoking. « What did you do today ? » 

James pulled his cigarette away from his lips (and of course he was holding it with an elegance that Steve would never be able to top in anything) and considered the question for a moment. 

« Well, actually, I was thinking about painting my motorbike in pink. » 

Steve almost choked on himself. Of fucking course James would have had a motorbike. « In pink ? Why in hell would you do that ? » He exclaimed. 

James smirked. « To piss my parents off. They don’t like me having a motorbike on first hand, so I thought that painting it in pink would make them go even more mad. » 

Steve arched an eyebrow. « You know, every time I think you’re the perfect cliché of the bad boy with the leather jacket and a motorbike, you beautifully prove me wrong. A pink motorbike, seriously ? » He said, chuckling. 

« Okay, first : I’m not the cliché of the bad boy. I’m, like, the opposite of cliché. » Steve rolled his eyes at that. « And, two : pink is absolutely punk rock. »

Steve had never laughed so hard in his all life. But, just looking at a boy with a leather jacket and smoking a cigarette telling him that pink was punk rock was just too much. 

« Hey, stop laughing ! » James protested, taking a drag from his cigarette. He leaned towards Steve and exhaled all the smoke in his face. Steve coughed, frowning, and James laughed. 

He felt like melting, warm filling up jus chest. It had been so long since he’d felt that... Comfortable. Okay. Here, with James, with smoke burning his lungs and stars shining softly in the sky, he felt as if he was normal, as if all his problems he usually had had now disappeared. 

« You know, I actually like rock. » Steve finally added. James looked at him, eyes shining, a happy expression painted on his face, as if Steve had just announced him that it was Christmas. 

« Really ? Are you kidding ? » James exclaimed, surprised. « What band do you listen to ? »

« Nirvana. » Steve answered. « And let me guess : your favorite is Led Zeppelin. »

James gasped at his words. « How did you know ? » 

Steve smiled cheekily. « I told you, you’re a total cliché. »

This time, James actually punched him in the arm. (He also did it with his wounded hand, the valid one holding the cigarette, and he winced about it for five minutes) 

 

 

Steve looked at the screen of his phone. It was almost midnight. He sighed. 

« I should probably go back. »

James looked at him, slightly pouting. « Oh » He let out, and Steve felt a strange satisfaction in hearing the disappointment in his voice. 

« I’m just wondering how I am going to climb back to my room. » He said. 

James looked at him, and then grinned. « Let me guess : first time you sneak out ? »

Steve rolled his eyes. This guy was a real child sometimes. « yep. Stop mocking me. »

« Do you wanna know how I figured out ? » James asked him. 

« No, but you’re going to tell me anyway. » 

« Because you’re so cliché » James said, smiling proudly. Steve arched an eyebrow. 

« Okay, that was actually lame. »

« Sorry, us mortals can’t have the same repartee as you » James mocked. « Anyway, you need some help ? »

Steve frowned, a bit surprised. « Help ? » He repeated. 

James shrugged. « Yeah. I can go to your house with you and help you climb to your window. You know, do a leg up. »

« Oh ! Yes, that would be awesome, really. You don’t mind ? » 

James shook his head, shooting him a kind smile. « Of course I wouldn’t mind. I don’t have anything better to do. » 

 

 

When they got to Steve’s house, James was still smoking his cigarette. Steve felt strangely insecure ; his house wasn’t big or even beautiful, his parents could barely afford it, and James, from what he had told, was coming from a family who didn’t like his neighbourhood, so that probably meant that his family was rich, right ?

He looked at James, who was standing next to him, but his eyes bore no judgment. 

They circled his house and came just under his window. 

« Well, that’s it. » He let out. 

James threw his cigarette on the ground and stump it under his foot. Then, he walked just under the window, and lowered a little, putting his hand. « Ready ? » He asked. Steve nodded, took a little momentum and put his foot on James' jointed hands. James propulsed him higher, and Steve got to the edge of his window, that he had let open. He jumped in his room, turning back to lean above the edge. James was staring up at him, smiling. 

« Well, I guess I’ll see you around » he said, low enough so Steve’s parents wouldn’t hear, but loud enough so Steve could listen. 

« Tomorrow ? » Steve asked hopefully. 

James looked at him, thoughtful. Then, he nodded. « Yeah, tomorrow. » He said. Steve smiled. 

« What are you doing to do now ? » He said. 

« Go back to my house before my parents realise that I’m not in my bed. » James answered. 

Steve arched an eyebrow, surprised. « You snuck out too ? »

James scoffed. « Of course I snuck out. I’m punk rock, remember ? » 

Steve bit his lips to keep himself from laughing. « Alright, alright. Good night, Romeo. »

James smirked. « Good night, Moonbeam. », and he disappeared among the darkness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> second chapter posted today, as promised ! I probably won't post until next week-end, so I thank you now for your patience and I really hope you liked this chapter :) please give me feedback your comments are really appreciated ^^


	3. bruises and small beans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve shrugged, despite the warmth spreading inside of his chest at his words. « Don’t mention it. »
> 
> James smiled, half of his face hidden in the packet of small beans, and Steve thought it was the most adorable thing he had ever seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT : I'm going to change the title of this story to "you're killing me on the moon" because I think it is better, that it is better linked to the story than the previous title.

_I had three our four thoughts_  
 _at a time at each given second_  
 _running through my head_  
complete with a soundtrack  
a song my brain was composing  
on the spot and I was scared  
I'd never have a clear head again.

 

* * *

 

 

The perspective of seeing James again helped Steve go through the day. He was so much in bliss from their previous meeting he didn’t even acknowledge his father’s unsatisfied expression or his mother’s sad glances during breakfast. He would just imagine James busy painting his motorcycle in pink and it would make him smile.

He decided not to take his pills that day again. He had been pretty fine the day before, so he didn’t think it was going to cause any harm. And if it did, he just had to go take them right ?

He lied in his bed or on the ground in his room all day, staring at the ceiling, music playing softly through his earphones, waiting for the sun to disappear in the sky. He felt strangely sereine and impatient at the same time : it felt like his stomach was all twisted inside of his body. He wondered briefly about what they would talk about, but decided not to think too much about it. Talks with James - and James himself - never were predictable, despite him saying he was cliché. Because James really was the most special person he’s ever met. There was a certain… aura around him, that was at the fist time scary and comfortable, relaxing and thrilling. It felt like he could finally allow himself to be the way he really was around him. As if James’ words and expressions were encouraging him to be free, to come out of the shell he had been forced to build and stay in.

Or maybe, because James was pretty much the only person he became friends with in years, he was simply reading too much into it.

He should feel scared to be already that attached to a guy he only met two times, should feel scared to feel so open, so happy with him, to trust him so much ; but somehow it didn’t feel wrong at all. Just normal, right, even if there was nothing normal about James.

And Steve wanted to know more about him. He wanted to know the story behind his bandages hand, to knowabout how he met Sam, to know why he loved punk rock music and why he had to sneak out of his home too. He wanted to hear stories about him, and tell him stories about himself in return. He wanted to tell him about his mother, about his pills and the reason why he was taking them, wanted to tell him how he discovered rock music and things like that.

He wanted an escape, or at least someone to run away with.

Maybe, one day, he’d draw James, he’d draw the way his fingers curled around the cigarettes, the day his face would look like when he exhaled smoke into the air. Yeah. One day, when he’d know more about James, he would draw him, and maybe he would let him look at it.

 

He sighed, raising his arms above his head and stretching on the ground ; he was still tired from not really sleeping the night before, but the strange mix of excitation and adrenaline was keeping him very well awake. He probably should sleep now, waiting for the rime to sneak out to come, but he couldn’t bring himself to close his eyes : his mind was racing, projecting thoughts everywhere.

He looked at his phone : it was eight p.m. Soon, his parents were going to call him for dinner, then they would settle in front of the TV before going to bed. And, only after that, Steve’s nightly life would begin.

Life he was really starting to love.

He wondered if James would accept to help him climb back to his room again. What if he refused, or couldn’t afford to take the time ? There wasn’t any tree he could help himself with, or even a ladder or something like that.  
He could put something in front of his window, though, something like the trash, or the chair they kept in the garden. Yes, that would be perfect. He just had to put it under the window before he’d left to meet James, and in the morning put it back before his parents would see it. If they did, they would immediately understand why it was here, and there would be no more meetings with James.

It was risky, but the whole fact of sneaking out was risky in itself, and yet he had done pretty well by now.

When his parents called him for dinner, he got up and left his room. He didn’t talk to any of them, keeping his eyes resolutely on his plate, but when, after cleaning the table, he suggested taking out the trash, they nodded, his mother looking slightly relieved and his father more satisfied about the fact he actually talked to them.

He threw the trash, before going in the garden and putting the chair close to his window, so he wouldn’t have to walk through the whole garden with the chair and make noises. Then he went back into the house, returning to his own bedroom, waiting for his parents to go to bed. Thank God his parents went to sleep early.

A hour later, he finally heard them close the door of their own room. He waited, laying on his bed, listening. When he was sure they weren’t going to leave the room, he got up, silently putting some shoes and opening the window very slowly. He climbed over the edge, took a deep breath, and jumped on the ground below. This time, he managed a much better landing than the first time. He quickly looked behind him, before waling away from the house. He got to the park two minutes later, heartbeat beating madly against his chest, even though he had walked all the way from here. He sighed, putting his hand into his hair to make the look a little better ; then, he stepped towards the swings.

James was already sitting on one of them, head inclined towards the ground. From where he was, Steve couldn’t see his face, hidden in the dark and behind his long black hair. He frowned slightly, concern starting to fill his chest, and went to sit besides him. For a moment, they stood in silent, until it becameso heavy he started to feel uncomfortable. He had to say something. What was going on ? Why was James acting so off ?

« No cigarettes tonight ? » He asked, in what he wanted to be a joke, but only came out as a nervous chuckle. He wanted to bite his own tongue.

James didn’t look towards him. He stayed like he was, leaned forward; his hands gripping at the chains on either sides of the swing. Steve stared at him ; even in the dark, he could see how tight James’ fingers were clutched around the chains.

« James ? » Steve asked, voice trembling slightly. 

James shook his head, then sighed. He turned his head away for a moment, before finally turning towards him.

Steve gasped, and James looked away ; but he had time to see the huge purple bruise, circling his right eye and covering talk of his cheek. His bottom lip was split, still red from the blood.

« I’m sorry » he immediately apologized. « It’s just… Who the fuck did this to you ? »

James shrugged, staring at the ground, face closed off.

« No one », he answered. « I fell. »

« You fell ? » Steve repeated, eyes wide, incredulous. « Like you fell on your hand ? ». James flinched at the words. « I know you were lying, and I know you are lying now. »

« I just got into a fight, okay ? » James exclaimed, but his voice broke in the end. « Why do you ask anyway ? We barely met, I’m not going to open my fucking heart to you. »

Ouch. It stung. It really stung.

His face must have shown it, because James quickly added : « I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I just… I’m fine, alright ? You don’t need to worry about me. Really, I’ve had worse. »

Steve wanted to argue. Wanted to say it wasn’t alright, that it wasn’t fucking fine that James had worse, wanted to ask what he exactly meant, but James was right. They barely knew each other.

« Okay. » Steve said, reluctantly. « But did you at least put something on it ? »

James seemed to hesitate for a moment, before shaking his head. Steve watched him, then got up, standing in front of him. James looked up at him, and for a second, he looks vulnerable, with the bruises on his face and his blue eyes.

Steve smiled, and reached a hand at him. « Let’s go, then. »

James eyed his hand with an unreadable expression, then at Steve. His face lit up, and he took his hand. 

 

* * *

 

They found an open store ten minutes away from the park. There was a thirty year old woman sitting behind the compter, and she watched them warily, taking in James’ wounds and clothes.

They walked to the freezer, and Steve opened it, choosing a packet of frozen small beans, before handing it to James. They walked back to the cashier. The woman still had a suspicious expression, as if she thought they would bring her any problem, but didn’t comment and just announced the price. They probably - mostly James - looked like they had taken part in a drug deal that had gone wrong or something. Steve felt a chill go up his back. What if that was it ? What James refused to tell him ? What if he was a drug dealer, and it wasn’t just ‘part of the appeal’, as he’d said it ?

Steve paid her, trying to chase away the thoughts, and James pressed the packet against his face as they got out of the store and started walking down the dark streets.

« Thanks », James suddenly let out, almost startling Steve. « It’s much better. »

Steve shrugged, despite the warmth spreading inside of his chest at his words. « Don’t mention it. »

James smiled, half of his face hidden in the packet of small beans, and Steve thought it was the most adorable thing he had ever seen.

« Do I have something on my face ? » James asked, and the spell was broken. Steve hadn’t realized he had been staring.

« Well, kind of, yeah. Bruises and a packet of small beans. » He answered, trying not to laugh, but he felt himself blushing furiously.

James rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling.. «  You know what I meant, pal. You were looking at me weirdly. »

« Sorry », Steve apologized, embarrassed. « Just zoned out for a bit. » He added, lying ; he wasn’t going to admit that he found James cute, because then it would be creepy and awkward and Steve did not want that.

« So, since that you’re here, I guess your parents didn’t catch you sneaking out yesterday. » James said. He sat on the ground, legs crossed in front of him, and Steve realized they were on the bridge.

Steve shook his head, sitting down too. « What about you ? » He asked.

James sighed. « Oh, believe me, if they had found oit, I wouldn’t be here tonight. They would have put bars in front of my window. »

« So… » Steve started, a strange lump twisting his throat, « what if you get caught ? How will we see each other ? » 

James shrugged, as it was not a big deal, and Steve’s heart hurt,ut the next words calmed him down. « I’ll sneak out by my sister’s window. »

It made Steve smile and laugh. « Really ? »

James nodded, laughter in his blue eyes. « Yeah. She’s the favorite child, you see. My parents would never even think that she’d let me sneak out. »

James said it with a disturbing normality, but it was by far one of the saddest things Steve had ever heard.

« What about you ? » James asked. « Any brothers or sisters ? »

Steve shook his head. « Nope. I’m the only child », he replied.

« How is it ? » James asked. He seemed curious.

« Lonely », Steve answered; without an hesitation, sincere? How many times had he dreamt about having a brother or a sister, someone who would know him and cheer him up when needed ? Someone he could take care of, help with homework or just watch movies with.

« Having a sister is pretty lonely, too. » James murmured quietly.

« And with me ? » Steve blurted out, without realizing, but it was too late to take it back. « Is it lonely too ? ».

James said nothing for a moment, Steve’s heart beating madly against his ribcage. « No », he finally said, very softly. « No, it’s not. »

Steve smiled widely, happiness and warmth flowing through him, and suddenly he felt l-very light, as if he was floating.

James was staring intently at the packet of small beans, now resting on the ground next to him. « What is it ? » Steve asked, a little defensive. He was feeling a little self conscious now, for no reason.

« I like your smile. » James replied, now avoiding his gaze, and Steve cold have swore he was blushing. « It’s, like, very bright. »

« Oh », Steve let out, blushing too. « Uh, thanks. »

They feel into silence. Steve scratched distract at the ground with his nails. The night wasn’t as clear as the two last nights, the stars barely visible and the moon seemed to be hiding between some dark clouds, only appearing once and then. The air was fresh, and Steve curled a bit more his jacket around his shoulders.

« It’s nice in here. » He finally said.

James nodded, pulling his knees against his chest. « Yeah. I kinda prefer the park though. »

« We could go back. » Steve suggested.

« No, it’s good. Don’t worry. » James answered, stretching his arms above his head. He sighed.

« God, I wish we could just stay here and never leave. »

Steve looked up at him, a bit surprised. « Really ? »

« Well, we’d have to invite Sam to our timeless bull sometimes, but yeah, I wish we could. » He said.

Steve smiled, feeling like his brain was melting into his head. « Do you realize how you’re at all punk rock ? »

James seemed really offended, putting a hand on his heart with a hurt expression. « I am ! » He protested, and Steve laughed.

« No, you’re not. What’s this thing, on instagram ? ‘Looks like he could kill you, but actually is a cinnamon roll’ ? That’s so you. »

« That’s not true ! » James exclaimed. « And for the record, you’re totally ‘looks like a cinnamon roll, and actually is a cinnamon roll’. »

Steve laughed so hard he thought his ribs were cracking.

 

* * *

 

They eventually had to go back. James insisted on keeping the packet of small beans with him. (« It’s a souvenir, Stevie. I’m going to keep it all my life. ») Steve mocked him for it, but couldn’t help but feel all warm on the inside.

They went back in the park, James going to sit on the swing, Steve standing in front of him, shifting a bit uncomfortably from a foot to another. James closed his eyes, and Steve was hit by how relaxed, how young he looked right now, in spite of his bruises and wounds. Before he could really think about what he was doing, Steve was taking a step forward and brushing his fingers against James’ bruised cheek.

James’ eyes snapped open to look at him, blue eyes looking up to his. Steve felt a lump in his throat, and he swallowed hard. James’ skin was soft, incredibly soft, under his fingers.

« Does it hurt ? » He asked in a whisper, not trusting his voice right now. 

James stared at him. « Not anymore », he answered quietly.

His eyes were too blue, too grey at the same time, too intense, and Steve stepped back, his hands falling on his side. His heart was beating against his ribcage - why was it called a ribcage ? Steve didn’t want, didn’t need a cage ; he wanted to find a key, to open the cage and be free.

Something told him that James wanted that, too.

He smiled shakily, nervous, fidgeting the hem of his sweater with his fingers. « Why did you get into a fight ? » He asked, staring cautiously at him. He was James’ face close off, again, features now darkening, and he swallowed back the lump in his throat.

James shrugged, avoiding to look at him. « Because… I guess people are dicks, you know. » He sighed, rubbing his forehead with his hand. Then, he looked up briefly at Steve, seeming hesitant. « Except you. You’re different. And not in a weird way. »

It made Steve smile. « I thought you were planning on proving me you weren’t a cinnamon roll. » he mocked.

« Hey, don’t call me off when I’m trying to be nice ! » James protested, outraged but smiling too.

Steve arched an eyebrow. « Trying to ? » He repeated. « You don’t really have to try, I think. »

James put a hand on his own chest, pretending to be hurt. « Excuse me ? »

« Don’t worry, jerk. You’re excused. » Steve replied, biting his lips to keep himself from laughing.

James’ eyes widened, as if they were saying _oh really ?_

« You know what ? » He said. « I take back what I said. You’re a dick. You’re literally the worse. We should fight. »

Steve snickered. « You sure whoever punched you didn’t hit your head too hard ? » He asked, teasing. 

He didn’t miss the way James’ expression darkened, and mentally slapped himself. Looked like it was too soon to make jokes about it. Looked like there was also more of the story.

« You know, instead of stopping the time, we should run away. » He let out, voice once again low. James popped his head up to him.

« Really ? » He asked, and Steve nodded, smiling. At this moment, he felt a brutal wave of fondness towards James’ childish attitude.

« Yeah, really. They day where it all becomes too much, we run away. »

« I’ll come pick you up on my motorcycle? » James said. 

Steve chuckled. « And then we’ll go on a road trip. »

James nodded eagerly. « I’ve always dreamt of leaving on a road trip. »

« Me too. » Steve smiled. « It’d be just the two of us against the world. »

James let out a little laugh, but it sounded wet and shaky. Steve frowned, worried. « it’s just, we’re so fucking cheesy. » James said, still laughing.

« No », Steve said. « We’re fucking punk rock. »

James sniffed, quietly, wiping his eyes, and Steve felt his heart aching at the sight. Why was he on the verge of crying ? Steve felt bad, he shouldn’t have made a joke about James’ bruises. Why ? Who did this to him ?

Steve reached out at him, kneeling in front if the swing and putting his hand on his knee in a comforting gesture. James smiled at him, eyes shining with tears.

They stayed this way for a long time, two boys comforting each other under the pale light of the moon.

 

* * *

 

Steve found himself in front of his window. He stared at it e few moments, before going to grab the chair and adjusting it so it was pressed against the wall just under his window. He climbed on it, before pulling on his arms to haul himself up on the edge of the window. He pushed it more open, heart beating fast inside of his chest, and he slipped inside of his room quietly.

He stripped out of his clothes, pulling some loose tee shirt on and laying down in his bed. He pulled the sheets to his chin and sighed at the welcome warmth. He closed his eyes, rolling on his side and curling up, and he thought of James. James with the leather jacket, the cigarettes, the grey-blue eyes and dark hair. James with the sweet works, pretty smiles and bruises on his face. 

James, who called him Stevie and Moonbeam ( how ironic), but was, just like Steve, lunatic as hell. James who could be all laughs and chuckles and the next second dark and crying. It was at the same time thrilling and scary, because, in spite of their differences, he saw himself too much into James. The boy was like a enigma : at the same timemysterious and hard to solve, but challenging and attractive. And Steve wanted to crack his secrets open, to understand him, to solve the big questions hanging around him.

Did James see him in the same way ? Or was just normal and saw in Steve a simple friend ?

Steve closed his eyes with a sigh, and started to think about running away with James, explore the world with him, get away from everything that was keeping them prisoner and destroying them here.

It was staring to rain, Steve could hear the drops of water tap against his window in a gentle rhythm. He hoped James was home already and wouldn’t get soaked.

He didn’t remember when he fell asleep, but it was to the sound of rain against his window and pictures of a boy with dark hair and mesmerizing eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for this one week late update. I know I said I would post last week end but I honestly had a lot of homework (it was my last week of school before holidays and now I'm in holiday yeeeeey)  
> So, here comes the third chapter. I hope you enjoyed it, and again comments are appreciated !  
> The next chapter should come up during the week :)  
> And as I said at the beginning, the title of the story is going to change to "you're killing me on the moon".

**Author's Note:**

> so, my first stucky story. I really hope you liked it, this story had been in my head for a long time, and I already have a few chapters already written, so I'll post regularly :) Be careful with the warnings, btw, if anything mentioned there triggers you, don't read. As I said, it's not a real happy story.  
> kudos and comments are really appreciated, so let me know what you thought ! :)


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